


With Every Fibre

by PhryneFicathon, propangel



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied danger, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/propangel/pseuds/propangel
Summary: Jack and Phryne deal with the aftermath of a life-threatening situation. "We stand in awe before that which cannot be seen... And we respect, with every fiber, that which cannot be explained." - Rukia Kuchiki, Bleach





	With Every Fibre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



> Thanks to @oracleofdoom and @olderbynow (who also gave me the title) for being such wonderful betas! Thank you, too, to @Firesign for all of her help and guidance.

"Where is she?" he asks Mr. Butler, removing his arm from his overcoat.

Mr. Butler, deep in conversation with Dot, looks in Jack's direction and without missing a beat motions toward the stairs. 

“She’s been up there a while, Inspector.” Mr. Butler offers with concern.

“Is something wrong with Miss Phryne?” Dot asks, worry on her face.

“I’m not sure, Mrs. Collins.” Jack replies, not wanting to worry the pair any more than necessary. He nods to them and places his coat and hat in their usual spot inside the front door. 

Putting his hands together, rubbing gently, he takes cautious steps up the stairs moving toward the closed door of Phryne’s boudoir. Upon reaching it, he raps gently on the wood door with the back of his hand.

After a few seconds of unaltered silence, Jack begins to knock again, the door opening with the faintest of creaks.

A cold darkness fills his senses as he edges carefully into the boudoir, hesitant to make any sudden movement or sound. A faint glow from under the door to the en suite is the only light in the room. He removes his suit coat, tossing it on the nearby chaise as he makes his way toward the door and slowly raises a hand to place his palm on its frame.

"Phryne?" he calls softly, letting his hand feel the texture of the door. "It's me," he says hesitantly, leaning his body against the wall. His hand travels further down the door to rest on its handle. He places his head against the door, making contact with his barricade.

The light radiating from under the door flickers gently as motions are made inside the room. A faint swishing of water. The dripping of a tap.

His fingers fumble gently with the knob of the door and he imagines being beside her. His only desire right now is to comfort her, so the heavy beating in his chest can subside.

More dripping of water. More slight splashing. Signals that there is life beyond.

He presses a palm against the door and pushes it ajar with little effort. Hot steam fills the air around him.

"I'm coming in," he declares, entering the room quickly and closing the door behind him.

She sits in front of him, in a white porcelain footed tub of water and suds. Silent. Still. Arms folded around her, tucked into a ball. She is small and fragile looking. Unfamiliar to him in this state. She is usually so full of life. So strong. So vibrant.

He is unsure of what to say. Unsure of what to do. He feels helpless, sighing quietly as he gazes upon her form in front of him.

Finally he hears something escape her - a tiny sniffle.

It is all he needs to hear to move him in her direction. He falls to his knees at her side, a hand reaching out for the side of the tub. Warm porcelain meets his grasp. Fingers inches from her skin.

She sniffles again and he takes the opportunity to reach up to her face, drawing her wet, cold hair away from her features. Black smudges of kohl darken her eyes, running down her cheeks onto her knees where her head rests. Her eyes remain closed even now as he continues to run his fingers through her raven-colored locks, allowing a sense of calm to take him over, trying his best to transfer his feelings and thoughts through his fingertips.

"You're not supposed to be here," she says carefully opening an eye, dark and glossy she looks to him. "You're not supposed to see me like this."

"See you like what?" he asks quietly, allowing his hands to run from her hair to her neck resting on her shoulder, her skin cold to the touch.

"Broken," she says, turning from him as a shiver runs through her.

He takes his hand from her, removes his cufflinks, and begins to roll up his sleeves.

"You're not broken Phryne," he says, dipping his hand into the warm water, finding a washcloth. "Don’t be so hard on yourself." He pauses before continuing, "Besides, we made it out alive.”

\----------

Phryne really hadn't thought of the consequences of her actions. She had simply seen Jack in danger, herself in danger, and the anger had bubbled up inside her. That man had come after them, threatened them, and she couldn’t simply stand by and do nothing.

After the capture Jack knew he needed to head to the station, but decided to drop Phryne off first. There was no reason both of them needed to be at the station. The prisoner was in no state to be interviewed anyway.

The drive to Wardlow was silent. Too silent. When they pulled up in front of the house, he had barely stopped the car when Phryne opened the passenger door and got out. She didn’t say a word to him, just walked up the path to the front door without even looking back. She was lost in her thoughts, afraid Jack was angry with her and would regret their relationship.

She walked into the house without saying a word to anyone and walked up the stairs to her boudoir. She needed some time to collect her thoughts. To calm down. To stop shaking. She paced the floor for what seemed like hours, but was more like minutes, before deciding she was going to take a bath. A warm, calming bath by candlelight. That’s just what she needed to put things right. Or so she thought…

At the station, Jack made sure the prisoner had been secured in the cells, and intended to take care of any necessary paperwork. He couldn’t concentrate, though, his thoughts drifting back to Phryne. His Phryne. It was still hard to believe, after all these months, that they were together. It was almost surreal.

“The course of true love never did run smooth," Jack thought, remembering a quote from the Bard. All the greats describe love as an emotion we can’t control. One that overwhelms logic and common sense. That’s certainly what it was like for them. 

He hadn’t planned on falling in love with her, and he doubted she had planned on falling in love with him. He knew quite well that was something she had shied away from quite vehemently after what had happened with Dubois. Yet here they are. Despite their differences they had fallen in love with each other. And once they did, something rare and beautiful was created. Something he was most certainly prepared to fight for.

Grabbing his coat and hat off the rack by his office door, Jack practically ran through the station to his car out front. He needed to get home to Phryne. He needed to see her. To hold her. To let her know everything was okay.

\----------

Phryne inhales deeply as he drips warm water over her back. She manages to catch her breath, ever so slightly, her sniffling subsiding. She tries to allow herself to concentrate on the feeling of the warmth flooding her skin. Of Jack’s calming presence. Of the smell wafting off her bath water. Anything to ground her.

She turns her head from her knees once more, looking back at him as he takes another cloth full of water and allows it to cascade over her back. Aware that she is looking at him, he smiles, running the cloth up her neck. He allows his eyes to meet hers and smiles carefully once more.

“You’re not alone anymore, Phryne.” Jack whispers.

“I know,” she says, eyes welling, lips pursed. Her lips quiver. "I was so afraid of losing you." She rests her chin back on her knees, tightly pulling her arms around her body. 

"Hey," he says softly, putting the cloth aside, running long fingers through her hair. He draws her attention. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together. Remember?”

Jack leans over the tub and nuzzles his nose against her face, taking his time and simply reveling in the closeness. The tension of the last few hours melts away, falling behind them both as they finally realize just how close they had come to losing the other.

Phryne takes her time releasing her arms before sliding a hand to Jack’s chest, feeling his heartbeat – proof that he is indeed alive and well. Finally, Jack leans forward more and covers her lips with his. Both sigh at the contact. There is no heat in the kiss, just simple reassurance of their connection.

“Phryne, I have every intention of spending many long years by your side. I have faith in us, and more importantly – I have faith in you.”

"You think pretty highly of me," she says wiping her face with a shaking hand.

"You're worth it."

He says it so matter-of-factly that she turns from him, slightly taken aback. When his expression is unchanging she returns her head to her knees to rest her chin, and stares at the bath water in front of her.

“Jack?”

"Yes love," he returns, drawing his hands from the bath water.

"Could you hand me a towel? I think I’m in need of more direct reassurance.”


End file.
